


The tending and care of ones very own Sasquatch

by kalika_999



Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [40]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Codependency, Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, HYDRA Husbands, M/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-29 23:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14483865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999
Summary: Jack's home again.





	The tending and care of ones very own Sasquatch

**Author's Note:**

> Because of Infinity War, [RomanianBlitz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomanianBlitz/) asked me to drum up a short little fluff thing with HH and I figured if given prompts to choose from something might stick. I decided to take " Jack coming home after a long mission and Brock helping him into the bath and helps bathe him." for a ride so here we are. This may not be exactly what you wanted but this is also the reason I don't like prompts, hopefully you like it anyway. XD  
> Also, I wanted to write Jack with compassion and empathy in relation to the outcomes of missions whereas usually I'm more comfortable with him finding a deadly ease in killing (the good fight or not).

There’s something about the way Jack looks when he comes back from a long drawn-out mission, tense and tired, his face always reading blank but Brock knows he’s running through whatever playbook in his head to make sure everything was done to the best of their abilities. Things occasionally go off plan; there’s collateral damage, sometimes not all of them come back or worse, there’s _kids_. 

Brock hates seeing the haunted expression in his eyes from what he’s done and has to do. They’ve both done it for years and it’s always the same with him even if he doesn’t talk about it, all tied up within himself and obsessing over everything in every angle. Brock can almost see the way his brain runs in constant loops, picking at every cost and how it could have been better handled. So many people look at Jack and don’t know automatically think he has no emotion, no room for such things but Brock knows otherwise, how those large broad shoulders seem to carry so much weight after every return. It’s worse when Brock can’t make it to shoulder a good chunk of the burden and blame.

He also knows Jack’s patterns after he’s back; he may or may not eat, strip himself of his gear in the hall, duffel bag abandoned by the door and possibly skip a shower all together. He’ll make the place smell of metal and sweat, dirt-caked boots leaving a trail to the bedroom and if Brock’s lucky, there’s no blood staining the sheets when he comes in to check on him.

This time though, Brock intercepts him, pocketing his phone after being tipped off while Jack’s dropping his bag by the door with a heavy hand and eyes glance his way, a cut across his forehead kept together by bandages and he looks too tired to even nod, “Hey.” 

“Hey yerself. How’d it go?” Without waiting for an answer, Brock sweeps an arm around Jack, steering him towards the kitchen table and getting him to drop into one of the chairs. The fact that he can do it with no real effort from Jack’s end is proof enough for him over how checked out he is.

“Fine. Got it done and over with, just longer than planned but a success anyway.”

Brock makes a noise of understanding while tinkering about at the stove. There’s too much pasta on the plate for Jack’s liking, he already knows and if it was any other day would have gotten lip about it, but when a mission is _fine_ that means it wasn’t a walk through the fucking park and he’s trying to forget. If that’s what he wants, it’s what he can do but Brock’s gonna make sure he gets his fill before he decides to sleep through half the day, he’ll work it off later either direction.

Jack is barely awake when Brock returns with the plate, his eyes trying to focus on the pictures in the flyers atop of the newspaper, shoulders stooping a little. When Brock gives his foot a nudge, he sits up straighter and moves his arm from off the table so the meal can be slid out before him. 

“Eat it quick before you fuckin’ pass out in it.” Brock mutters, but reaches a hand out to card it through Jack’s greasy hair, receiving a light hum of approval as the fork is picked up, always weak for pets.

Jack eats like Brock expects, mechanical and on autopilot. He barely chews and doesn’t take the time to even savor, but he does work on clearing his plate without a complaint to the amount of food like Brock knows he would. He might have been offended about the lack of reaction to the effort but he’s been through this way too many times to feel that way, he knows he’s the same way when he comes back from a mission and Jack has to convince him to get some rest instead of buzzing around with unending bouts of energy from God knows where.

It’s another sign of how deep Jack’s buried inside himself, the resignation shown for even food he enjoys and the apathy for his own careful diet. The conclusion prompts Brock to step away while Jack eats, moving through their small home to get to the bathroom and run a bath, adding a few salts and some fancy milk soap someone had given him for Christmas as a gag gift. Jokes on them, he uses it occasionally.

When it’s filled, he comes back to the kitchen to find Jack just finishing the dinner roll he had put on the side for him and without cleaning up, Brock pulls him to his feet and leads him down the hall for the bathroom.

“Look, I know I stink up the bedroom after I come back because sometimes- ” Jack begins when he eyes the frothy bubble filled tub.

“ -Maybe,” Brock cuts in. “But I went through the effort so ya better sit your ass in it and clean yerself up anyway.” 

For good measure Brock nudges him closer to the bath, his hand at the small of Jack’s back and sliding up smoothly before it eases downwards again in a comfort fashion and the side of his head falls against his boyfriend’s arm. No matter how spent and worn Jack is, he’s a full fledged sap and it only becomes worse when Brock shows a tiny bit of affection his way and wants him to do something. Despite Jack knowing full well how he feels, the little bit extra always holds sway and it’s the quickest way to get Jack to do what he wants, so Brock takes advantage of it as much as possible.

Jack gives in almost immediately, the way his shoulders fall and his fingers twitch to proceed, a half step of movement goes in the tub’s direction. Brock moves in before him, hands ghosting over gear he’s still wearing, silently asking. Jack only turns his head a fraction, nose tucking into dark hair and Brock tries to hold in the way a shiver rushes through him the moment he feels the man before him inhale. It grounds Jack, a habit Brock’s found out way too late for his liking but now knows all too well, an absent fixation of assurance that he’s here and home and breathing right next to him. Brock gets it all too well. They’re both _safe_ and they always have to assure themselves in their own little ways.

Brock works efficiently. Practiced and methodical in ridding Jack of all his tac gear while also assessing as he goes. Another common habit they both share, his eyes scouring over faint and fresh bruising mainly around his chest and along ribs. He’s amassed with healed over cuts of varying degrees, some barely there and minor, some that would have led to open wounds that needed attention and Brock can feel words forming against his tongue, lectures and demands on what got to him to get to that but for now he doesn’t. For now they’re healing away and closed, turning his focus on how his body must carry a throbbing ache that he surely can’t shake off. 

“You’re one dumb son of a bitch.” Is the only thing he mumbles out because he really does hate seeing him hurt, carding fingers affectionately through Jack’s hair and in return he receives a low hum of agreement.

They linger in each others orbit to recharge for a few valuable seconds before Brock guides him into the bath and then proceeds to undress himself as well. He slips into the almost-scalding water just in front of Jack, settling between his legs and taking the one with his fucked up knee across his lap. Leaning in against that broad perfect chest of Jack’s, Brock proceeds to massage sorely hurting muscles that he knew had been working well into overtime without much rest especially if it was Jack controlling them with no complaints as to how he must have really been struggling at times.

“Brock, you don’t gotta do this.” Jack mutters despite his voice going off a bit, arms wrapping around Brock’s middle. They both lean back a bit more while Jack relents to the touch and melts along the tub’s edge as well as Brock’s crafty hands.

“I know. I ain’t doin’ nothin’ I don’t wanna do so jus shuddap and take it.” Brock informs him with a slight level of authority over it. 

He continues roaming his hands along hard muscle and internally adoring such strong long limbs. Jack’s fingers skate across his own muscles, pads of them tracing along the firm definition of his abdominals before hands fall back against his hips and he groans appreciatively to something Brock hits _just_ right. 

When Brock’s satisfied that he’s worked through one leg enough, he switches and brings the other across his lap to repeat the process from thighs all the way down to the balls of his feet. After he finishes there he lifts up Jack’s hand, his dominant one even though he’s mostly proficient in both, he does have a preference and gently works at the muscles in his palm. He repeats the process with the other hand and works up both arms until he’s ready to move behind Jack to continue.

There’s a small bit of a struggle, both of them too grown to fit in a tub they should have replaced almost a year ago but never got around to. It’s awkward as they both try to switch places, water spilling off the edges at every shift and it causes Jack to laugh tiredly, the settled way he does that eases something in Brock’s bones, a tell that he’s feeling a little better, a little more himself. He turns his head when Brock finally manages to get up behind him and they come in together for a kiss. It’s only one, gentle and light, but it’s enough for now as Brock gestures him to look ahead again and rewards him with a press of another into one dampened shoulder when Jack does.

It takes a bit more effort to loosen up the muscles in Jack’s shoulders, they’re so tightly bunched and take some serious effort to get them to give. Jack breathes with small barely there groans and lets his head drop forward through the effort, Brock taking the opening to get to the back of his neck. He lets his hands work down Jack’s back in thorough fashion, pushing out thick knots and avoiding darkened bruises while Jack continues on with moans of appreciation from time to time.

“You keep going like that and I just might fall asleep in here, or at least want your hands to move somewhere else.” Jack murmurs, a light slur to his speech.

Chuckling into his skin, Brock leads Jack to bodily lean against him, hands sweeping out to his chest and stroke him across his stomach, “Whichever one ya like, Sweetheart. I’ll oblige.” 

Jack doesn’t choose, instead opting to drop his head back against Brock’s shoulder and they soak together while they still have the hot water, a perfect peace for them that they always reveled in.

He’s almost quietly snoring away when Brock decides it’s about time they get out, gently nudging Jack back to consciousness and to get him to allow the water to drain once he can stand. Leaning him against the shower wall, Brock makes quick work of actually getting Jack cleaned up, skin more flushed and vibrant once he manages to rid the layer of dirt clinging to him. Brock gets him under the shower head and can tell Jack’s about to give in to fatigue but since he still wants to take his time he can see Jack is letting him. 

Moving on to wash his hair, Brock squirts an excessive amount of shampoo onto his palm and massages it into Jack’s scalp without a care of how much he wasted as long as it was frothing up just right, fingers lightly scraping along scalp while he worked it all in slowly. Head tilted back as much as Brock needed, the cascade of water hit Jack’s chest, eyes closed and lips just barely parted. It was hard for Brock not to just stop and admire how good he looked like this, so much that it made his heart ache reminding him of just how bound to him he was. Every precious moment they’re not in each other’s orbit feels like a large part of themselves goes missing for much too long.

There’s great care in washing out all the shampoo from his hair, Jack practically going boneless and pressing his full weight against him while Brock combs his fingers through dark locks. The water finally turned off, they both climb out together and Brock makes sure Jack’s toweled down, drying himself afterwards before guiding him to the bedroom.

“You want sweats or jus some underwear?”

“Nothing.” Jack answers in a sleepy slur, standing by the end of their bed with glassy eyes and his head tilting to one side, completely naked and Brock selfishly takes a moment to enjoy the view.

Like this, Jack looks softer, maybe even smaller. He doesn’t have to keep his head up and hold that militant stance of rigidity he possesses at times. He actually looks boyish here, gentle as eyes slip closed and stay that way as seconds pass before he opens them halfway again and stares longingly at the covers. It makes Brock smile, that Jack waits for him like he owes him something despite both knowing he doesn’t, it makes him lean in and press a kiss to his lips and Jack rests a hand to Brock’s hip.

“Bed?”

“Bed.” Brock agrees, nudging Jack onto it, coaxing him to lie on his front.

When Jack settles himself down the middle, Brock tugs on a pair of boxers for himself before he goes back into the bathroom for a small bottle of massage oil and he moves in to straddle Jack’s hips. He rolls the tiny bottle between his hands to let it warm a bit and then applies some onto his hands, starting at Jack’s lower back and along his waist. He slowly works his way up, the aim this time to soothe Jack and lull him completely into a deep restful sleep doing this until he reaches large broad shoulders and soon hears Jack nearly snoring beneath him.

Brock takes his cue to climb off, dropping down next to Jack and pressing a kiss to his temple and then another to his mouth, “Feel good?”

Nodding with an arm snaking around Brock’s waist, Jack had just enough energy to pull him in closer and presses another kiss to his lips and then another, drawing back to nudge noses and Brock falls more in love if that’s even possible.

“Sleep,” He orders, “Ya need it.” 

Jack’s eyes are already closing, nodding aimlessly and his arm tightens around Brock’s middle while he can only smile at his Sasquatch of a boyfriend. He allows his own eyes to close, not that he’s really tired but settles for spending time in bed snuggling with his favorite person in his whole entire world. Today’s another day they can celebrate together in each other’s arms and it’s all that really matters for the both of them.


End file.
